String
by Iris Cornelia Jade
Summary: In the end, it doesn't matter if I'm the strongest mortal or the weakest leech on the street-when it boils down to it, I'm just another string to the fates. I'm just another life that must end someday soon.
1. Chapter 1

I was never supposed to exist.

Well, as cliché and anticlimactic as it _sounds_, that's just it—I was never intended to live. I'm sure a good majority of people on this Earth would be more than happy to see me wiped off the face of the universe. A good number have actively tried to do so.

But, a tribute to my stubborn nature, I persisted on existing anyway.

No one deserves to die.

That sounds quite hypocritical, coming from me.

* * *

><p>I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. My biggest one was being born.<p>

My father never ceases to tell me. Don't get me wrong—my father is not mean or abusive. In fact, he loves me very much. But he'll often clench his fists in his hair and tell me that I've probably caused more trouble than I know. He'll describe, in no blunt terms, what horrible medical conditions I was born with. And how I survived them all, in a quiet, gradual way that's classic to me.

Then he'll hug me, say he's glad I lived, and ask me what we'd do today. We'd forget about the whole thing.

Or, in theory, we _were_ supposed to forget.

* * *

><p>The people of Buddhist religion believe that the balance of good and bad leads to what you will be in your next life, your reincarnation, your rebirth. Humans were of the highest order, while plants and pests were the lowest of the low. Eventually, you reach the peaceful state of a heaven-like dream, dubbed <em>Nirvana<em>.

I'm not a Buddhist, of course—it's _impossible_ to be (or at least became impossible at twelve years of age), but if I was seen through a Buddhist's eyes, they might assume that I'd done reasonably well in my past life. After all, I'm a human being without any visible diseases or blemishes. Around other people in the regular school surrounding, they'll see I have a reasonably sizeable circle of friends that exchange nonsense freely and go off on random tangents like nobody's business.

Obviously, these people don't know the first thing about me.

At first glance, being a human might show a good tally from my past life.

Let's just say I'd rather be the plant.

* * *

><p>I hate cows.<p>

Yes, I know, weird statement. But I _do_ hate them, and there's no turning back.

There's this girl that loves cows with every fiber of her being. She's in my class.

She's an obvious idiot.

If I told the world in general that cows haunt me every second of the day and happen to be my worst fear, the world would laugh in my sorry face.

Hahahahaha. You just wait, world.

I hate cows.

But I'm about to hate the world, too.

**This is told in the view of four different demigods. **

**This is a prologue, but I won't start this multi-chap until I finish the last chapter of "A Chatroom Fit for the Gods." It's almost done, but knowing my procrastinating nature…**

**At any rate, if this hooks you, put it on your Story Alert.**

**This story is dedicated to my friend, Brittany, who (hopefully) won't find this before her birthday. She specifically told me that for her birthday, she wanted a "PJO story without using any of Riordan's characters." Happy Birthday, Brittzles! (No, I won't stop calling you that.)**

**Reviews are always very welcome. Even flames.**


	2. Chapter 2

I always carry my amulet.

It's not a question of trend, color, or any sort of relation to other appearances. I don't care about that stuff, anyway. It's a silvery pale sort of color, and I can never look at it straight on.

Whenever I take it off, strange things happen.

Like the old man who followed me three streets down a dark alley. The lady with glasses and a cheap wig that was offering some greasy hundreds so I could visit her house for some scones. The bats that tangled themselves in my hair all day. And the person that looked, talked, and acted like me that appeared on the day I had the flu and stayed at home, only to disappear after I recovered—by which time the school was ready to expel me by all the havoc 'I' had made.

I keep it on all the time now.

Of course, I lose some things from it. Kathleen DeRoshbridger snubbed me forever after because I never wore her birthday present to me—a necklace with a blue dolphin on it. Mira Senubeeane told everyone I was horrible bully after I slapped away her necklace-prying hand.

Ironic that, afterwards, I would be the person to smash it myself.

"Why do you never take it off?"

That was Randy Bullington's question on a Friday afternoon. School was letting out for the summer soon, and everyone's nerves were high.

"I don't know." I answered as truthfully as I could without making myself sound like a complete idiot. "I keep it because it gives me good luck. Like a charm."

That was also true. While it perhaps didn't make my luck any better, it certainly kept bad luck away. It might as well have meant the same thing.

"Hmph." Randy went back to his "fox-face" mode. "Surely you don't need to wear it _all _the time."

"So what's your theory?" True or not, he should take people to their word. How far would this habit get him in life?

"A boyfriend."

"_**What?**_"

The thought was so preposterous, I practically choked over my own words. _Me?_ Bullington knows full well I hate every boy with a passion strong enough to force them into the pits of Mount Saint Helens. My parents had lived in an area near the mountain for three years, but moved to this miniscule town on the corner of the map after an explosion evacuated thousands of people—including my parents. They had me shortly after, and decided to stay here.

"I'm thinking a boy that you knew back when you stayed at Mt. Saint Helens. He gave you it, and you never take it off to prove your love for him."

"Bullington, this is just an extra length of your imagination. My parents moved here _before_ I was born. And you know fully well I hate any people of the Y-Chromosome gender!"

"Maybe you were betrothed."

This was so ridiculous, I gave out a harsh laugh this time.

"Betrothal before birth may happen in those stupid romance novels you read, Bullington, but this is real life. Obviously, I know you don't _have_ a life, but at least try to _understand_ it!"

"Then take it off. Come on, do it."

"Will you go jump into a hole and die if I do?"

"Yes." I could feel the concentrated sarcasm focused on me in that one word.

"Fair enough."

I knew this was the most stupid move in the history of my life, but Bullington knew he had me hooked. I have a stubborn nature and a short fuse. Especially when it came to boys.

Even with that, though, I hesitated. Was I _really_ going to have another short game with fate?

"What, Greta? Too in love to stop declaring undying passion?"

Okay, that was _it_. I yanked it off, dangled the chain in front of his face, then quickly put it back on. "There you go, Bullington. Now hurry up and get lost."

"Well, I gotta say, you put that on _awfully _quick. Almost like you were afraid that someone might catch you…"

"Let me guess. You changed your theory."

"Maybe it's a boyfriend you have in this school, then. Possibly…John Pattron?"

"_THAT _idiot?"

It was common knowledge that the class pervert bedded girls like a particularly avid shopaholic changed clothes. His bedposts were covered in notches for every girl he'd used, and that was exactly the person I hated. I couldn't count how many times I'd screamed, yelled, punched, kicked, and generally abused that organic life form. I'd thrown backpacks, textbooks, papers, and gum wrappers (with or without gum inside) until my arm was as good as any pitcher.

And yet this was the person this _numbskull_ accused me of liking.

"Listen, I don't know if you've struck a deal with this idiot or something, but I'm not doing it and you definitely _cannot_ make me."

"Touchy, aren't we? Honestly, though, I'm pretty sure John mentioned something about getting together with you over the summer…and I'm sure he won't be happy when he hears you've been unfaithful—"

"_**Unfaithful?**_ Really, how stupid can you get?"

"Then you won't mind getting rid of it. Holds no emotional value, holds no value at all."

"In your world, maybe. I hold love in the lowest esteem possible, I assure you."

"Enough with the big words. _Get going _and give it to me."

"Give it to you? I'll take it off, get rid of it, but _you? _I might as well just throw myself to the wolves. It's my charm, and believe me when I say it works. Give it to you? Why don't you just stuff me into a bag of steak and throw it to a pack of hounds?

"Then destroy it yourself. What do I care? _Just. Do. It._"

"Yeah, alright. Then you're going to be subject to my humiliation."

"JUST DO IT! Or are you stalling so your beloved will—"

"_Beloved?_"

In two swift movements, I ripped the chain and flung it on the floor as hard as I could, smashing it into pieces.

_Stupid, _I immediately thought. _Stupid, stupid. How was I goaded into this? _Not possible. I would have bad luck of every shape hounding after my blood. How did this happen?

**But it was me, Greta Arcana. Do not think you've avoided me yet.**

The voice in my head spoke back.

_Get out of my head, evil alter ego,_ I remonstrated personally. _You have no business being here._

**Why, I do. I'm part of everyone, you included.**

I shrugged the voice off, picked up the nearest lunch tray—that was caked in gum, might I add—before thwacking Bullington hard in the head with it. Proceeding to go in hot pursuit after the coward, I noted later with satisfaction that the only other noises in my head were his—_it's_ cries for mercy amid those bawling bloody murder.

I regretted it in the morning, of course. Don't I always?


End file.
